27. Leo
LEO
Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment that my stomach tensed, but after three meetings and two trips past Peyton’s desk, the feeling intensified.
I understood Misha’s insistence that gut instinct was valid.
I stood in front of my window and spoke toward my phone where it rested on the sill. “It’s done?”
“Yes, sir.” The droll monotone on the other end sounded bored.
I pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose and held them there.
The bank on Kensington had been my first legitimate acquisition, inherited from dear old Dad and built into a monopoly over the last fifteen years.
I knew the names of the branch managers.
I’d shaken hands with the women who ran the loan desk.
Whatever scorched debris sat on that corner, it had once meant more than numbers on a spreadsheet.
I would not forget that, even as every instinct I possessed pivoted toward Anton and away from grief.
“Anything else, sir?” That bored tone pushed me forward.
Good.
I would take bored over the shitshow this day had become. “Is there anything left?”
“No, sir. The hit was clean. Perfect.” He paused. “There is no physical evidence of Anton’s presence, but I cannot fathom anyone else with the balls to attack in broad daylight.”
Of course. Anton was bold as always, but also cautious enough not to reveal his hand.
His people had set my bank on fire.
One of my legitimate businesses. And he’d done it in the middle of the day. “Thank you.” I ended the call and crossed my arms. The building across from us held office spaces filled with people who hurried back and forth all throughout the day. They reminded me of ants, always scurrying and working.
I pressed the button to call Peyton’s desk. Four rings and the call ended without an answer. She’d never been gone from her desk this long except for lunch. I flipped my wrist over to check my watch. Two p.m.
I hadn’t seen her since this morning. Turning, I scooped my phone into my pocket and stalked from the office, checking Peyton’s desk as I passed.
Empty except for a bag of what smelled like teriyaki chicken from a local grocery. The same bag that had been sitting there before lunch.
I knocked on Viktor’s door, then walked on down to Misha’s, pushing my way inside after three sharp raps.
Viktor followed me in, his hair tousled like he’d been running his hands through it.
“Have either of you seen Peyton?” I didn’t bother waiting to ask the question.
Misha’s brows furrowed. “No.”
“Me either.” Viktor perched on the edge of the couch arm, one leg pulled up so his foot dangled. “Why?”
“Maybe nothing.” I filled them in on my meetings and the bank fire.
Viktor pushed to his feet and headed straight for Misha’s liquor cabinet. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my chest, the ache there demanding attention. “It might be nothing.”
“Do not discount your gut.” Misha paced between Viktor and me, taking a glass from Viktor and passing it to me.
“Check the cameras. I’m going to talk to her friend. Elena.” I tossed back the whiskey Misha handed me and made my way to Elena’s department.
People here sat behind computers and read reports. The quiet but persistent clack of fingers on keyboards created a decent amount of background noise that mingled with an orchestra soundtrack playing overhead.
Several heads lifted when I walked in, and a few gulped and the clicking intensified. I wound my way around the desks until I spotted Elena’s dark head.
She watched me approach, seemingly nonplussed by my appearance.
Her head dipped in a nod when I stopped at her cubicle. “Mr. Petrov. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Have you seen Peyton?” No need in hedging around the question. “She’s been away from her desk for a while. Work is stacking up.”
The flimsy excuse came out plausible enough that no one looked at me oddly. Not even Elena.
She shook her head at first, then gasped. “Oh, no. She did not say anything about leaving, but she did mention that she was not feeling well. Perhaps she went home, after all.”
Without telling any of us? I struggled to believe that. Even if she withheld not feeling well, she would have at least left us a note. But I nodded and backed away. “Thank you. I suppose she will let us know something soon.”
“I’ll try calling her.” Elena reached for her phone. “She might have fallen asleep or something.”
“Good idea.” It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I had nothing else.
I returned to our offices, my steps pulling me to Peyton’s desk first.
I removed the food from the bag, checked under it, then opened every drawer.
I even checked under her keyboard, thinking she might have written a note but not wanted to bother us during meetings to deliver it.
Nothing. I checked my phone again.
No missed calls or text messages.
Nothing in the app.
My frustration took me by the throat, driving me into Misha’s office.
Viktor sat behind the desk, one hand over his mouth and chin as he leaned over the keyboard and frowned. “Come look.”
He shoved his palm against the edge of the desk with a curse so full of venom, my heart stopped.
Misha and I closed in from either side.
Viktor tapped the play button, and a video began.
The parking garage came into view, the angle of the camera pointing toward our vehicles.
Shadows shifted and moved, then Peyton walked into the bottom corner of the frame. She paused.
“Sound?” I asked.
Viktor shook his head. “We never upgraded to audio.”
“That changes tonight.” I fisted my hands on the desk and leaned my weight onto them.
Peyton took several steps toward my car, her body language tense. In a split second, she wheeled. Men rushed from every side and surrounded her.
“No.” Misha slammed his fists into the desk, almost cracking it with his power. Curses poured from him, his Russian turning his voice thick.
Viktor flinched when a needle appeared on the screen and was jammed into her neck.
Several masked men hauled her into a van and peeled out, smoke pouring from the tires.
“Track them.” I stabbed a finger at the screen.
“Already have the programs running, but there are no license plates.” Viktor barely opened his mouth to spit out the words.
My body heated, and I slammed a fist into the wall.
Misha threw the couch. One second, it was on the floor. The next, he’d heaved it into the air. It flipped once then landed upside down.
Viktor remained at the desk, his hands clenched so tight, his body vibrated. He shoved to his feet, his face purpling as he bellowed a curse.
Anton.
The name slapped me hard, knocking me back a step. I threw another punch, my fist crumpling the drywall and continuing through to the insulation.
Anton did this. The fire was a distraction. The whole thing was a setup.
I wiped drywall dust from my arm and spun to the computer, my lungs heaving in short bursts that did nothing to ease my fury. “Play it again. There must be something we missed. Anton did this.”
“How did he know Peyton would be in the parking garage?” Misha bent at the waist, hands locked on his knees. He dropped to one knee, one fist hitting the floor.
I’d never seen him beaten, but watching that video had ruined him.
“Misha’s right. He was waiting for her. How did he know to be there at that exact moment? Peyton never goes to the parking garage.” I ran the video back, then narrowed my eyes to watch it a second time.
Misha stayed on the floor. “I have people I can ask.” His head bowed. “I will not stop until I learn the truth.”
A heartbeat later, he pushed to his feet and stalked from the room.
Viktor and I watched the video three more times. It did not get any easier. If anything, the look on Peyton’s face when she realized she could not escape became harder to see.
“Can you follow Peyton’s progress? See if you can find why she went to the garage?” I needed to do something, but this was all I had. My mind raced.
Viktor kept the video playing in the corner of the screen while he ran through the rest of the video feeds. “The first time I pick her up is here.” He tapped the screen as Peyton rushed past her desk and into the elevator.
“Stop.” The screen paused. “Look at her face. She’s panicked. Why?”
“Maybe she got a phone call from home? It would have taken something like that to get her out of the office without telling us.” Viktor rubbed his chin. “I might be able to hack her phone. I’ve already tried to track it. No luck.”
“Anton is too smart for that. But it does not explain how he knew about Peyton.” The nagging sensation returned. I was missing something. Something obvious. “Whoever is leaking our business information must have learned of our relationship with Peyton.”
“How?” Viktor sounded tired. Not tired. Worried. He thumped a fist on the desk. “No one comes into our offices except Peyton and our clients.”
“And the few people who have special access. People like Elena.” Our rat had information no one else knew. The kidnapping went far too smoothly to be an opportunity of circumstance. Someone set this up. Someone convinced Peyton to go to the parking garage.
“We should have asked more questions about her family. If we had, one of us would have their number. We’d be able to call and ask them.”
“And possibly upset them when we had to admit that their daughter had been kidnapped because of us.” I shook my head, the weight of it hitting me square in the heart. I was used to people’s lives depending on me. I was not used to feeling it like this.
We could not lose Peyton. We knew who had her, even if we could not tell the identities of the men in the video. None of them were Anton. These men were too furtive for Anton’s casualness in devastation.
“Someone told Anton to target Peyton. It is the only thing that makes sense. If they were hoping one of us would come out of the elevator, they would have let her go.” I rolled it all around.
Viktor palmed his chin again. “Do we know for certain that Peyton has not told anyone about us?”
“Only Elena, but she doesn’t know who we are, only that Peyton has been in a relationship with three men she met on the app.” Saying her name again caused it to all come together. Elena knew about us. But she was Peyton’s friend. Why had she told me Peyton hadn’t felt well and might have gone home?
Wouldn’t her best friend have known for sure? Which brought up the real question. Had Peyton finally broken down and told Elena the truth about us?
I hadn’t thought anything of it at first, but taking a step back from the conversation, it no longer added up.
“We need to question Elena again.” I met Viktor’s eyes. “Call Misha. Tell him to meet us when he’s finished.”
“You want him to keep going?” Viktor tapped Misha’s number on his phone.
“Yes. He might still learn something from the men. I have a feeling they would be easier to break than this woman. If I am right, Elena is elite. She will not be easy, and I have no idea how much time we have before Anton makes a move.”
“He won’t kill her.” Viktor held the phone to his ear, the ringing on the other end going on several seconds.
Misha must already be deep in interrogations.
“He doesn’t have to kill her. She’s the bait, but that does not mean he will not hurt her.” Anton was a vicious son of a bitch.
I wouldn’t put it past him to kill her just to spite us.
We had to get ahead of this. The longer Anton had the upper hand, the more Peyton was at risk.